


The Dragon and the Maiden

by fizzbuzzler



Series: La Valette [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Roche is a sick bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 23:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12023505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzbuzzler/pseuds/fizzbuzzler
Summary: We are back in the dungeons of La Valette castle. Geralt and Iorveth are still part of Roche's little fight club and now the commander of Temeria's finest has devised a new attraction for his show.Tough times are ahead for the boys.By now I feel the need to apologize to everybody, because no matter how I plan it, in my stories Geralt has to suffer. Prepare for blood, pain but also sexy times and a bit of feels.





	The Dragon and the Maiden

“You want me to do what?” The disbelief in his voice was nearly as evident as the contempt for the man who stood before him.  
With a smirk Roche looked down at him. The Witcher was on his knees before him, hands shackled behind his back. The guards were wary around him, and even more so when he was on his feet. So they used every chance to have him on his knees - as it seemed safer for them.  
Geralt knew that this was just wishful thinking on their part - and he knew that Roche knew as well. But as the man seemed to enjoy having the Witcher on his knees before him, he hadn’t interfered so far.

"The audience wants more than just blood, gore and a good plough afterwards. They want a story, preferably with a character they can identify with.” Roche pointed at Geralt “And you will be that character for the male audience. The brave knight, rescuing the damsel in distress.”

Geralt just shook his head, he couldn’t get his mind around the fact that Roche seemed to have set his mind on making his prison not only a brothel but a theatre as well.  
He couldn’t help the sarcasm that dripped from every syllable when he muttered “And who’s gonna be the ‚damsel‘? Do you want to put Iorveth in a frilly dress and put flowers in his hair?”  
Because by now he fully expected the elf to be part of this ‘piece’. Roche loved to pair them up in his fights and unleash them against each other. Either in the arena or in the bedroom, or both.

Roche laughed out loud “As much as I would like to see that, for this little entertainment there will be an actual damsel. A virgin one at that. I am all for authenticity. And you will be her knight in shining armor, saving her from the evil dragon.“ He stopped at the incredulous look the Witcher shot him „As for the dragon, we won’t be able to accommodate a fully grown one, and I’ve been told that they are hard to come by, anyway. We will use a forktail or another draconid. That should do nicely and the arena is big enough for that.”  
Geralt raised his eyebrow “Shining armor?” He questioned warily, knowing full well that it was more than unlikely he would be wearing any armor at all.  
“Metaphorically speaking. I think I might give you a shield, though.” Roche’s eyes lit up with something akin to glee. “Interesting - I thought your first question would be, who the virgin maiden is going to be.”  
“Actually, that is my second question. You’re gonna throw a woman into the arena with a forktail?”  
Roche drew a deep breath “Yes - and it will be your responsibility to keep her alive. And to relieve her of her virginity afterwards. Just like in the stories. The ladies in the audience will enjoy watching this immensely, imagining themselves writhing under the bloodied and sweaty body of a groaning Witcher.” 

“You didn’t answer my question. Who will you use for the ‚virgin’? Have you found a whore who is willing to play along?” Geralt couldn’t believe any woman would be stupid enough to join in on that charade.

“As I said before, it will be an actual virgin - so whores are out of the question. Also I strive for realism and therefore the girl will have to display certain emotions - fear, desperation and the like. I doubt that a wench from a village brothel will do. But there are other ways - I am not the only one who is running an independent business. There are others, catering to … different tastes.” Roche’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He was waiting for Geralt to process that information.

The Witcher ground his teeth and hissed “You want me to first save an innocent girl from a monster and then rape her?”  
“That would be the short version, yes” nodded Roche, still with that cold smile on his lips.  
“If you think I would ever do such a thing, you are severely mistaken.” Geralt bit out, eyes glowing dangerously and his pupils mere slits.

“The saving or the raping?”  
With a snarl the Witcher leapt to his feet, faster than any of the guards had a chance to react - and threw himself at Roche. He would kill the bastard, right here, right now.  
But Roche had expected him to do something like that. It seemed he had been waiting for it all along. With one move he let himself drop to the side, out of the path of the furious Witcher, and while still rolling back onto his feet, he drew his sword.  
When the man he’d lunged at, suddenly wasn’t there anymore, Geralt tried to change the course of his attack but with his bound arms his balance was off. The feeling of cold steel on his throat made him stop in his tracks. Roche held the blade with a deadly stillness - he wasn’t even breathing harder. Geralt turned his head and could feel the blade cut into his skin.  
He growled “You ploughing bastard. Better finish it here and now. Because I will end you for sure.”

Roche narrowed his eyes - all signs of amusement gone from his features “If you really think I would simply cut your throat, you are severely mistaken. You will plough that little wench after you’ve killed the dragon. I will use you in the arena and you will fight whatever I throw at you down there. And you will continue to do so…”  
He stopped there and just stared into Geralt’s eyes. A cold shiver ran down the Witcher’s spine at that look. Admitting that Roche was right, and that he would keep on fighting, had been one of the hardest things to do during his time in the dungeons. Although he had played with the notion of just waiting a bit too long bringing up his guard, or slowing down just enough, so that his opponent had a window of opportunity to strike him, he had never actually done it. Bleeding out in the arena had sounded tempting at the beginning but he couldn’t just change what he was. He was bred to fight, and somehow just standing there, letting himself be killed, was not an option. And unfortunately Roche was acutely aware of that, and used it mercilessly. 

The guards who had somehow managed to overcome their surprise at his attack, had remembered their job and grabbed him by his arms and shoulders, keeping him in place in front of Roche’s sword.  
Without another word Roche removed the blade from Geralt’s throat and put it back in his scabbard. He turned around and left, leaving the guards to deal with the Witcher.

After what seemed like an eternity of fists and boots raining down on his curled up body, the men stopped. They picked him up and dragged him to his cell. This time they didn't just throw him in and left him there. They pulled him to a wall and his wrists were secured in iron rings set into the rock. With his arms drawn painfully wide he could do nothing but sit there. The chains had no slack and his shoulders started screaming in pain after a short while. He tried to assess the damage the beating had dealt him. One eye was swollen shut, and a cut on his forehead bled profusely. Several ribs were cracked, and he had a strange whistling sound his his left ear where a boot had hit him. Most injuries would be healed within a day - the new potions he was given made sure that only his ability to cast signs was impeded, but his other senses and abilities were nearly unaffected.  
He groaned and wished once again that his training hadn’t been so thorough, and his fight or flight reflexes hadn’t been changed to a pure fight reflex. Leaning his head against the cold wall he tried to meditate.

When he came to he was still bound to the wall. Checking his body, he found that someone must have been in the cell because he had been cleaned, and bandages around his chest stabilized his cracked ribs.  
For someone to do that without him noticing, he must have slipped into unconsciousness. He grimaced and tried to change his sitting position, wondering how long he would have to stay like this before Roche would throw him back into the fights.

He just hoped that Iorveth was alright - and that the elf wouldn't start a riot, when Geralt wouldn’t show up to their usual training sessions. His lips curled up slightly - he had started to like the haughty Scoia’tael. 

It didn’t take very long until he could hear a key in the lock and the door opened. A guard came in, carrying a bowl. He was followed by three others, who immediately pointed their crossbows at the Witcher. Geralt laughed at the sight but immediately regretted it when his ribs protested by shooting sharp stabs of pain through his chest. He groaned and rasped “Look at you. Three crossbows for one man in chains. Why not drag a ballista in here - just to be on the safe side.”

The guard with the bowl snarled “If you wanna be funny, how about we just leave you here sitting in your own piss and shite, until you howl like the mangy dog that you are.”  
Geralt only huffed and looked pointedly at the bowl. “Wanna throw that into my face as well for good measure?”  
Squatting down beside the Witcher the man stared at him with disgust “Unfortunately our orders are to feed you.”  
With that he shoved a spoonful of unidentifiable broth between Geralt’s lips. The stuff was nearly cold and hadn’t seen any seasoning whatsoever. But the Witcher swallowed eagerly - he needed the energy to heal and after the first spoon he could hear his stomach growl.  
The guard could, too, and smiled nastily. He put the spoon away and held the bowl in front of Geralt’s face. “Dogs don’t use spoons. Lap it up” he grinned. Swallowing his pride and the snide remark that lay on his lips, Geralt started to lap at the contents of the bowl. To reach in he had to dip the tip of his nose into the liquid, causing a raucous laughter from the assembled guards. He ignored them and continued to get as much broth into his stomach as possible, before the guard thought of another way to use it.  
He even licked the bowl clean before looking back up at the guard. His eyes blazed but he kept silent.  
After a few seconds the guard got back up, and he and his comrades left the cell. A relieved sigh escaped Geralt. He hadn’t been sure if they wouldn’t try to add a few more cracked bones to his already impressive collection.

When they came again they brought a bucket and released him from his chains. He had never been so antsy relieving himself as when he could feel the three crossbows trained at his back. He was put back in his shackles and left alone.

Having no means of telling the time he guessed that they kept him chained up for three or four days. When he was finally released again, they brought him to the training grounds.  
“Time to get back in shape. Boss needs to make some money off you.” With that a training sword was thrust into his hand, and he was shoved out into the blinding light of a cold and sunny afternoon. His eyes took some time to adapt after the long time in his cell. The stone walls around him were partly covered in ice. It must have started freezing during the night. Slowly he moved towards a small group of men in the middle of the yard. He could see one of the guards who acted as trainer, but his eyes searched for a familiar tall figure. A flash of red to his left drew his eye and he smiled. The elf had seen him and was striding towards him, sword in hand. Despite the cold Iorveth only wore light trousers and no shirt. Sweat was covering his torso and his tattoo glistened in the sun. Steam was rising from his skin and he breathed hard. Before he reached Geralt he stopped, and the Witcher could feel his eye roaming over his body. Iorveth took his time, his gaze lingering on the bandages and the still visible cuts and bruises. He finally dragged his eye up to Geralt’s face. A small smile curled his lips and the relief in his voice was palpable despite him trying to sound teasing “Finally - you’re back. Had your fun with the guards, I heard.”  
Geralt just shrugged. The warm feeling in his stomach at the sight of Iorveth had hit him somewhat by surprise. The Scoia’tael was his only ally here, and he considered him a friend, but to get butterflies at the sight of a friend was highly unusual. The Witcher decided to put the experience aside for later inspection. Maybe it was just his body reacting to the proximity of the man - they had had enough sexual encounters with each other to elicit such an instinctive response.

“Speaking of fun, I could use some warming up. And I haven’t had much chance to stretch in the last few days.” Geralt lifted his sword invitingly. And Iorveth attacked.

The Witcher realized quickly that he might have overestimated his fitness, when the Scoia’tael rained down the blows on him. Trying to ignore his protesting ribs he dodged to the side, and attempted to get behind the elf. But Iorveth was nearly as fast as he was. They alternated attacking and parrying for a while before the elf managed to break through Geralt’s defense, and the dulled blade of his sword hit the already damaged ribs. With a yelp the Witcher went to the ground. He really wasn’t up to a serious fight, yet. Iorveth walked over and towered over him “Already had enough? You disappoint me, Vatt’ghern.” Despite his sneer, the look in the elf’s eye was concerned.  
“I’ll be alright. And then I’ll thrash your insolent ass until you beg for me to stop.” Geralt bit out between painful gasps. 

“Ploughing elf!”  
They both turned their heads to see the trainer run to their position “You were told to hold back, he is supposed to get back into fighting shape, not end up dead here.”

Iorveth remained silent, and Geralt slowly got back on his feet. “He was just lucky.” he said with a dismissive glance towards the elf, which got him a raised eyebrow in return.  
“When am I supposed to be back in shape, anyway. Your guard friends have lost Roche quite a lot of money already, I guess. How long have I not been to the arena? Every missed fight is a pouch full of gold less for Temeria’s finest.” Geralt couldn’t keep his frustration out of his voice. Why beat him up like that, when he was supposed to be in prime shape for the fighting. Roche would never send him in as incapacitated as he was now. There was too much gold at stake.

The soldier looked at him “They were supposed to teach you a lesson but got carried away, the boss was not happy.” He grinned nastily “Who do you think took your place in the last few fights? Wasn’t as entertaining as usual but at least this time the monsters got to win.”  
Geralt had listened with growing disbelief. Roche must have been really pissed to dispatch of his men this easily. He was actually rather loyal to them and his men returned the favor. 

Iorveth chuckled behind him “Those bloede dh’oine couldn’t tell the front end from the back end of a shaelmaar. It was actually pathetic how quick the beast finished them off.”  
The Scoia’tael rolled his shoulders and raised his sword “How about we continue. I’ll go slow on you, Vatt’ghern.” Geralt grinned at that. He already had started feeling more alive since he had been brought out into the sunshine and fresh air, but the company of the elf somehow managed to subdue the last dark thoughts. He twirled his blade and went into his fighting stance. “Then show me how you dance, Aen Seidhe.”

 

That evening Roche came to his cell again. “I see you are on the way back to your full form. Although today Iorveth gave you a nice ass-kicking. Maybe you’d like to know that tonight I have him fight against a new guy. He is supposedly immortal - Olgierd von Everec. Could be interesting. Looking forward who will win, and gets to have the other.” He grinned. Geralt narrowed his eyes. One of those fights. Roche usually paired him with Iorveth for those, knowing that they would not grant the other any leniency. And because with them it was never sure who would actually win. So the betting was good on those fights.  
“And you came here just to tell me that. Had me shackled to the wall for that as well. Quite the effort.” Geralt said coldly. He wouldn’t give Roche the pleasure of showing any emotion at all. 

“Ah yes - the reason for my coming is actually something we already talked about once. You remember the special event? I wanted to let you know that I’ve found both of your partners in that little piece. A royal wyvern is on it’s way here and the soft maiden has also been acquired. Once they are here you will see them and get acquainted with the wyvern - not with the girl though. She’s supposed to stay a virgin until the fight.”  
Geralt only raised his eyebrows “Seriously, what makes you think I would take the girl down there in the arena? You know me better than to believe that.”  
Roche crossed his arms “True - but there are a few things you should consider before you refuse. I could simply use someone else as knight - the new guy looks promising. Tall, blue eyes - and he wouldn’t have those chivalric virtues you seem to hold on to. And if you do not agree to do it, there is something else…” he paused, looking at Geralt with hawklike eyes “You and the elf have become quite the item. Very friendly when you think nobody is watching. Some might even say overly friendly.” The Witcher dropped his head, he didn’t want Roche to see his eyes. His hands balled into fists and he had to take a deep breath.

When he lifted his head again, he was laughing. The motion had his ribs scream in protest but he didn’t stop. It took a while until his laughter died down. He looked at Roche, and saw a hint of confusion in his eyes. Just what he wanted. “You cannot be serious. Who told you that horse shit. Have you told Iorveth as well? I'd really like to see his reaction to that.”  
He had to stop to draw a deep breath. When he spoke again he was dead serious “If you want to blackmail me into something, make at least an effort to find the right leverage.”  
He had tried to pull all feelings from his eyes and his voice - showing only the emotion-less Witcher. Roche was still not fully convinced - he could tell that. But his resolve to use the elf to blackmail Geralt, seemed to have lessened. And that was everything the Witcher wanted right now. 

Roche had left him hanging there. It was more than just a bit uncomfortable. In the middle of the night his guards showed up and opened the shackles. A bowl of broth was put in front of him and they left him alone. He ate slowly, and tried to find some way to get out of this dragon and virgin story. That Roche would use just someone else to fill the role as knight was pretty clear. But he also desperately wanted Geralt to do it. More money in it, most likely. He had no illusions regarding the fate of the girl. She would end up either as a slave or in a brothel this way or another. There was nothing he could do for her.  
He didn’t think of himself so highly that he believed it was better for her if he raped her, instead of von Everec or someone else. A rape was a rape. He had never forced himself on someone unwilling…, unwilling and innocent, he corrected himself, thinking of his time in the arena.  
And he hoped to have dissuaded Roche from using Iorveth against him. He had to be really careful around the elf.  
With a sigh he pushed the empty bowl away and lay back, trying to find some sleep.

 

The next few days he spent mostly training or meditating in his cell. He found out that Iorveth had won his first fight against von Everec and that the man hadn’t been very happy about the final act of their fight. The elf had to beat him unconscious to finish it. The audience had loved it.  
When Geralt finally met von Everec, the man had recovered from both the physical injuries and his bruised ego. He was nearly as arrogant as Iorveth but at the same time had a certain chivalrous air about him, despite Roche's description of him. Geralt really thought that he would make a better knight than him. When asked if Roche had approached him with a special offer, Olgierd smiled “You could say that - he wants me to fight a werewolf and ‘free’ it's captive. The little maiden is then supposed to be really grateful towards her hero. He was mumbling something about a red cloak he would have to find.” He looked quizzically at Geralt “Why - has he asked you, too?”  
“Yeah - I’m supposed to kill a dragon first. And then do the maiden thing.” Geralt sighed. “It looks there will be more than one act in that play. I wonder what he plans for Iorveth.”  
“The elf is supposed to kill off a bunch of dwarves, to save his maiden.” Olgierd looked at Geralt, who stared at him open-mouthed “Use an elf to kill dwarves in front of a mostly human crowd. That is a whole new level of depraved.” The Witcher wasn’t sure if the Scoia’tael would go through with that. “Iorveth will never agree to that. He will let them beat him to death, before he kills other non-humans as an amusement for humans.” Olgierd only shrugged “So far it looks like he is gonna do it, anyway. I heard him shout all kinds of obscenities at Roche but the commander looked quite satisfied when he left him.”

Geralt wasn’t quite sure how Roche had managed to persuade the elf, but he had a dark suspicion. And that suspicion was proven right the following night. Roche had decided that the Witcher was fit to go back in the arena, and had put him against Iorveth as the highlight at the end of the evening.  
The fight didn’t last long - Iorveth lay at Geralt’s feet within minutes. He had hardly fought back, and sometimes plainly refused to parry or attack. As a result he had a heavily bleeding gash on his thigh, where Geralt hadn’t managed to pull back in time. The Witcher stood over the prone elf and hissed “What the hell are you doing? Do you want me to kill you?”  
Iorveth looked back at him, and a small smile played on his lips “Just the opposite, Gwynbleidd.” Geralt took a step back and stared at the elf. Iorveth only used his elven name when they were alone. He would whisper it when he came under Geralt’s hands, in some dark corner where no one else could see them.  
So Roche had been successful in blackmailing Iorveth by finding just the right leverage. And the elf was too proud, stupid or whatever to deny it. He groaned - and then looked around the arena. The audience had taken up their usual chant “Plough him. Plough him.” They sounded like a rabid beast in heat. Usually Geralt would let that sound take him, and push him up into a state of non-caring sexual craze. The palpable carnal tension in the arena made sure that he would be hard immediately, and taking his opponent was always a raw, brutal experience. This night he wished desperately that it would be just like any other night. But he couldn’t. He turned around and left the arena. 

He sat in the backroom staring non-seeing ahead when Roche stormed in “You ploughing bastard. What was that out there? Do you want me to castrate you right here and feed you your own cock?” He stood before Geralt, eyes blazing. The Witcher smiled and looked up at him “You could try. I’ve heard that one can bleed to death from that. Would be worth a test.”

It was obvious that Roche was seriously considering that as an option “You idiot - you should have just faked it, if you can’t perform. Now I have to think of something, because I should have had you killed right were you stood in the arena.”  
“Faked it?” Geralt sputtered “Are you out of your mind? How would that work? You think the people are all shortsighted?”  
The Witcher wondered why the commander was so agitated. Things like that had happened before, and the men who refused to perform were simply killed. Right now he wanted the same for himself.  
“Take me back out, and have my throat cut in front of everybody.” He stood up, holding his hands out, waiting for the shackles.  
Now it was Roche’s turn to look incredulous “You want what? To be killed off, like that? I will never allow that. You are my best fighter, and I will not throw you away like that.”  
The Witcher remained standing and looked at Roche. Money - as usual it boiled down to that. If Roche had him killed off, he would lose his highest earner.  
The Temerian snarled - he knew that Geralt now knew exactly how much he was worth. He knew that he couldn’t be just killed off like the guards. He was irreplaceable - and that gave him power. Power he was not allowed to possess. “Take him out and put him on the flogger.” Roche commanded his men. The Witcher swallowed hard - he knew what would be coming next, but he didn’t resist when he was led back out into the arena. The audience went wild when they saw him again. Iorveth was still lying in the sand - one of the medics taking care of the wound in his thigh. He looked like he wanted to get up or say something, but when Geralt shook his head, he remained where he was. However his eye would never leave the Witcher’s, when the guards strung him up at a chain that hung from the roof. Geralt grunted when the chain was pulled up until he hung freely, and lightly swung to and fro. Then Roche entered and the arena fell quiet. He carried a coiled whip, and his expression was like stone. Standing in front of the Witcher he spoke with a compassion-less voice “The rules of the arena are clear. You fight - you win - you fuck. If you fail, you die. The Witcher has not followed the rules tonight. Every other man would have his throat cut, and you would see his blood paint the sand. But this man does not deserve a quick slash with a blade. He deserves to bleed, and he deserves agony. He will be punished, and he might die from it. But if he survives, he will be back in the arena and will continue to fight, to win and to fuck. And to entertain you.”

At the last sentence the crowd went wild. Geralt could see their bloodlust - taste it in the air. His heart sped up, and his eyes were transfixed on the whip when Roche let it uncoil. The metal shards in the leather reflected the light. He looked back to Iorveth. The elf stood there and his lips formed one word “Gwynbleidd”. Then the whip cracked and the first blow landed on Geralt’s chest. The pain was white and hot - he gasped. When he looked down he saw the blood already welling up. Another crack and the end of the leather strap curled around his side. He bit his lip to prevent himself from crying out. He managed to go through another half dozen lashes, before his first scream broke through. He soon stopped counting. He was slowly turning on the chain, his body convulsing with every hit of the barbed leather.  
Pain was everywhere, and suddenly he found himself strapped to a table. A young boy, panting and howling, as the mutations in his body changed him forever.  
He never knew how many lashes he received, but they continued to rain down on him, even when he fell into darkness.

He came back when they took him down. His mind was addled, and pain was everywhere. He could here a strange high whine, and realized that it was him. He was put in front of Roche, and held upright on his knees by the guards. In his hazy vision he could see that his whole torso was red with his blood and a few lashes had hit his thighs as well. He swayed on his knees, saliva and blood dripping from his lips. He shrank back when he could see something move in front of him. Trying to focus he recognized Roche, who had squatted down to look at him.  
“Don’t ever do something like that again, Geralt.” he said quietly and without any heat in his voice. Roche took his chin in his hand and looked into his eyes. “You better survive this.” With that he stood up and was gone.  
The Witcher couldn’t walk so the guards just dragged him from the arena. He could hear the roaring crowd for a long time.  
When the medics started working on him, he was finally able to escape into unconsciousness.

For the next six days he cursed his enhanced body which didn't let him die, but also healed at an incredible rate. When he wasn’t able to lift an arm on the first day he was back to training on the sixth. He knew that Roche had counted on that. He could do to the Witcher what no other man would survive, and make a spectacle of it, without losing too much time or money.

 

The day they brought the royal wyvern in nearly ended in disaster, when the drugs that were supposed to subdue the beast, wore off faster than anyone had anticipated, and the wyvern managed to kill three guards and nearly brake free of it’s chains. Somehow Roche’s men managed to get it back under control, and it was pulled and dragged into a cage in a separate enclosure. Geralt had just stood in the shadows, and watched as the animal tried to regain it’s freedom. A strange compassion had gripped him then. The wyvern would die in this arena - and so would he. He only had some more time left.  
He could feel a body behind him - the elf put a hand on his shoulder. “He will be free of his chains soon” Iorveth said quietly, his breath ghosting past Geralt’s face. The Witcher turned, and put his palm over the scar that the elf had half-hidden under his bandana. He looked into the green depths of his eye and saw it close slowly, while Iorveth put his own hand over Geralt’s.  
They stood like this for a while before heading back to their training.

 

The next morning Roche came to tell Geralt that his maiden had arrived. He led the Witcher up to the so-called guest rooms and showed him to a door “She’s asleep, so you won’t have to worry that she sees you.”  
Geralt hesitated but then stepped forward, and looked through the small latch in the door. He saw a mass of blonde hair and a small body in a simple white shift lying on the pallet. Her legs were thin and dirty, with angry red marks were she had been shackled. The fabric at her front had shifted in her sleep, and he could see the curve of a small firm breast and a dark nipple. It made him swallow. For the last weeks Roche had refused every offer to buy a night with the Witcher. And he had made sure that he had no other chance for release. With a dark smile he watched the Witcher as the man looked at the girl - his thoughts plain on his face. 

“The fight will be tomorrow. No need to wait any longer - that wyvern is costing me way too much to feed. And the girl won’t get any younger.”  
Geralt closed his eyes at that. His stomach turned, and when he opened his eyes again he glared at Roche.  
“You will go out there and kill the dragon, then take the girl.” Roche commanded… and Geralt nodded.

 

He spent the next day preparing for the fight. To kill a wyvern with only a steel sword would be difficult enough. The fact that the sword in question was rather old, and he constantly feared it would break at the next parry, didn’t make the endeavor any easier. So he was surprised when the trainer took him aside and showed him a sword. His sword - his silver sword. He couldn’t believe that Roche hadn’t sold it yet. But it wouldn’t surprise Geralt the least if the commander had had it in his room all the time. Preferably on display with his steel sword and wolven armor for everybody to see. “You will get it tonight for this fight - and this fight only.” The trainer seemed unhappy to have to hand the sword over. It upgraded the Witcher’s fighting power by several levels. Geralt’s yellow eyes shone with anticipation at being able to wield his own sword again. 

However, his eagerness was damped when he saw the platform in the middle of the arena. This was where the girl would be. Bound and presented to the crowd as the maiden in distress. He decided to stop worrying about her, and concentrate on the wyvern in the first place. If he didn't kill the beast everything else would not matter.

 

He could hear the screaming of the crowd - the first few regular fights had just ended. The audience knew that something special would happen today, and they whipped themselves into a frenzy. They were like a giant beast with a voice like a thousand demons. Geralt closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He was holding a shield and wearing tight black leather trousers and hunter’s boots. At least he didn’t have to face that wyvern in just a loincloth. He had even been given a potion of Golden Oriole to prevent from getting poisoned by the wyvern. He felt antsy and had no idea why. Usually he became extremely calm right before he entered the arena. When he lifted his right hand to wipe across his face he realized why he was feeling so strange. There was no sword in his hand yet. With a huff he looked around. Roche was coming towards him - a few guards trailing behind.  
“What a fight this will be. We are packed to the rafters and the bets are already sky-high.” He grinned and looked rather relaxed “Your sword waits for you in the arena. When you are finished you will leave it there as well. Do not try to get out of there with it still in your hand.” He signaled to open the door.

A roar greeted him as he entered the arena. The area was lit brightly and he could clearly see the platform in the center with the girl on it. She was still wearing the white shift and her movements indicated that she was fighting against the leather straps that bound her down. Geralt looked around, and saw his sword on the other side of the arena in a weapon stand. He cursed as he carefully started to make his way across. And just as he had suspected, the grate to the monster enclosure opened when he was only halfway across the arena. He could hear the snarl and screech of the wyvern, as it moved through the short tunnel. He started to run.  
But the wyvern was faster - the beast shot through the gate and immediately attacked him. Only his reflexes and a series of rolls brought him out of the danger zone. Unfortunately he also ended up at the wrong side of the arena for his sword.  
After the first attack the wyvern had stopped near the entrance. The girl had seen the monster and started to scream. She tried to get off from the platform and Geralt could see that her wrists were already chafed and bleeding. He ground his teeth, and started again towards his sword. The wyvern detected his movement and went for him. One of it’s wings had been clipped so it couldn’t fly but it was still extremely fast. Somehow Geralt managed to get to his sword without being cleaved in half or hit by the tail.  
He couldn’t suppress the moan that came over his lips at the feeling of the familiar hilt in his palm. His callouses fit perfectly into the moldings and his arm lifted the weapon with ease. He held it in front of him, and started twirling it around to see how well it still responded to him wielding it.  
The circle above him erupted in cheers, as they realized that this was a Witcher’s blade. That this was his blade, and that he would dance with it tonight.  
With a pirouette to the side Geralt attacked the wyvern. The beast seemed to know that he was now much more dangerous than before and evaded him. He started to attack from all sides. Fast flashes of silver striking against the golden green scales of the draconid. He whirled around nearly too fast to see. Whenever he hit the beast, a screech filled the arena. Wether it was the wyvern or the crowd he was never sure. The beast used all it’s power and speed to get to the Witcher. Geralt managed to evade a few attacks but then the wyvern suddenly changed its direction and jumped into the air, and even with only one wing managed to sail over him slashing its tail at him. He let himself fall back in a nearly impossible angle and the poisonous trident only lightly grazed him. Had he worn armor he would have hardly noticed it but his skin got ripped to shreds by the razor-sharp tail.  
He grit his teeth as the pain exploded along his shoulder blade, and gripped his sword harder.  
With a roar he turned, and started to attack the wyvern with a series of battering slashes of the silver blade. He could see that the beast became weaker with every hit - it was losing quite a lot of blood. A problem that he had as well. Although his Witcher mutations were constantly ensuring that his blood coagulated quickly, his movements would tear the wound open again and again. He could feel the hot liquid flow down his back, and he knew that his trousers were slick with it as well.

With a last effort he fainted a direct attack, only to divert at the last possible moment, and slide sideways and under the wyvern. The beast was still looking where he had disappeared to, when he pushed his blade up and into the underside of its neck. His movement dragged the blade nearly all the way to the belly of the wyvern and he heard the death screech of the beast. Before he got buried under the collapsing body, he managed to roll out from under it. His sword however stayed behind, still buried to the hilt in the wyvern. 

Geralt remained kneeling on one knee on the ground when he came back up. Breathing hard, he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his body. He had felt so alive when he was dancing with his silver sword, raining down blows onto the wyvern. Looking down at his now empty hands he clenched them into fists. A strange sound made him look up. His yellow irises contracted until his pupils were only narrow slits. The crowd roared, and to him it sounded like distant thunder. Slowly he got to his feet, and turned around towards the platform.  
The girl had gone quiet, and she was no longer fighting the leather straps. Her eyes were large, and fear filled them as she watched the Witcher approach. 

When he got closer to her, he was suddenly very conscious of how he might look to her. Not only was he covered in both his own and the wyverns blood, but after the flogging his body was covered in so many scars, he could hardly look at himself anymore.  
How he might be perceived by a young girl, who was traumatized by the fact that she had been nearly killed by one monster, only to be saved by another one, he had no idea.  
Holding up his hands in a calming gesture, he took the last steps to the platform. Her eyes were still fearful and she panted, close to panicking.  
He tried to lower his voice as much as possible when he stood beside her “Shhh. You will be alright. Nobody will hurt you tonight.” ‘At least I won’t’ he added in his thoughts.  
He squatted down, so that he was at eye level with her. “My name is Geralt - who are you?” He lightly put his hand over hers without touching her bloodied wrists. She flinched at the contact but answered “Coraline. My name is Coraline.” Her voice was just a hoarse whisper. Geralt nodded and a small smile softened his eyes “A lovely name for a lovely young woman.” “Will you free me?” she asked, clearly not sure what his answer would be. He didn't reply to her immediately but looked up to the stands of the arena.  
How much does she know about her role tonight, he wondered. When he looked back down, he found the answer in her eyes. They were still full of fear but also a certain acceptance. “You know what will happen next?” he asked quietly, and he closed his eyes with a sigh, when he saw her nod.  
He stood up again, so that she could see all of him. He moved to her legs, and without any sign of effort, tore the leather straps that held her down. When he returned to her he paused. “I will loosen the binds to your hands as well, but you must promise not to flee. I will not hurt you but I will make sure that you stay on this platform, if you try to get away.” She blinked in rapid succession and swallowed hard, before she nodded lightly. Geralt freed her hands. She immediately crossed them in front of her body and hugged herself. He could see her shiver. Her nipples were hard pebbles that poked through the thin fabric of her shift. His eyes started wandering over her shivering form, and he felt his cock twitch. Had she been an experienced woman he would have taken her there and then, would have ravished her and would have lost himself in her. But this girl needed all his patience and deserved all his effort to make this as pleasurable as possible for her.  
His needs were secondary. However, he could not avoid the hungry look in his cat eyes when he looked back at her. She saw it, too, and her pulse started to race in her throat. Slowly he lifted her hand and pressed his lips on her palm. His large hand completely covered her small one. Her breath hitched, and he lightly mouthed to her wrist were he kissed her pulse and let his tongue flick out. Gauging her reaction, he decided to up his game, and started nibbling at her skin. Her other hand slowly loosened it’s grip in her shift and moved down to her belly were it remained. With slightly parted lips she lay there, and waited for whatever might happen next. 

The Witcher turned his senses towards the arena. The crowd was silent for once. Whatever had happened, they seemed to be transfixed by the pair on the platform. 

Lifting his other hand to her face, he slowly pushed a blonde strand of hair behind her ear. “Have you ever been with somebody?” he softly inquired. She bit her lip and shook her head. “Maybe kissed a boy, or a girl?” he continued, trying to gauge how much she knew. Again she shook her head. “Have you been told about your body and that of a man?” He was growing desperate now. The girl must know at least something. “I’ve seen dogs and horses” she offered and Geralt sighed quietly. When he looked into her eyes again, he smiled “Usually it is a bit different with people. But the basic principles are the same.” He decided that he didn’t want her to think too much about it, so he lowered his head to her chest and began mouthing at her nipples through the shift. She was so surprised by his move that she didn’t try to shove him away. He heard her gasp and at the small moan that escaped her lips he grew bolder, and took the nub between his lips and let his tongue move around it. She responded immediately, and her back arched towards him. Then her brain caught up with her body, and she shoved him away and covered her chest with her arms.  
He had expected that and continued to smile at her “Too fast? We can go slower, just let me know if it is too much for you.” He let his fingers slide up her soft cheek and back into her hair. Cupping her head he lowered himself. With a deliberate effort he dilated his pupils until they were nearly round like a normal humans. He couldn’t do anything about the color though. He could feel her body tremble, and when he lowered his lips to hers, he stopped before he made contact. He looked into her eyes, searching for her consent. The tip of her tongue darted out, and she closed her eyes lifting her head slightly. It was enough for him, and his lips touched hers. He kept it chaste, just a soft touch to let her get used to it, but not too light. He wanted her to know that this was serious, and not just a harmless game. When his tongue started to run over her lower lip and he lightly sucked at it, her eyes flew open again. Applying more pressure, Geralt’s tongue demanded entrance into her mouth. He moaned when she let him in. It was always the first breach of a body, and he always savored it. Letting his tongue explore her mouth, he held her close to him. Still sitting on the bed, he could feel her arms slowly wandering around his shoulders and then encircle his neck. He grinned against her mouth.  
Slowly he moved away from her lips and placed light kisses along her jawline down to her ear. Pushing the blonde waves away he nibbled at her earlobe, and delighted in the little gasps that escaped her. She was especially sensitive at the soft skin below her ear. Geralt continued to suckle there for a while. She relaxed visibly, and he continued his exploration of her body.  
There was no resistance when he pushed the shift up her body and over her head. She lay before him, completely naked and only her hand covering the little patch of hair between her legs. Deciding to ignore that part of her body for now, he continued at her shoulders.  
This was where his vast experience with women came to fruit. He tried every erogenous zone he had ever encountered in his life, trying to find out what made her gasp, and arch her body into his touch. A few times she would just giggle, when a nibble at a spot he was sure would make her moan just tickled her. With time she grew bolder and started to touch him as well. He let her explore his pecs, and his breath hitched when her fingertips played over his hard nipples.  
He moved back to her breasts, and this time there was no fabric to separate his lips from her skin. Laving her hard nipples with his tongue and lightly biting the flesh, he moved his hand down her belly. Her hand down there had long abandoned it’s guard post and was now resting in his hair, lightly trailing through his silver strands.  
When he reached the patch of hair, her breath hitched and a light tremor went through her. But it was with anticipation and not fear. His hand continued down her thigh and then up along the inside. Unconsciously her legs opened for him. The moan that escaped her when he ran his fingers along her folds made him swallow. His cock in his trousers had been rock hard since his steps had brought him to the platform. He had no idea how long he would last.

He pushed himself up and kissed her again, she reciprocated, and her tongue explored his mouth and his lips. With a sly smile he looked at her, before he started to crawl down her body. His tongue and lips never lost contact with her skin, and he stopped at all those spots that made her tremble. When he reached her mound he placed soft kisses on the soft skin on the top of her thighs. Although she had initially closed her legs when he went down, a light pressure of his hand opened them again. Geralt looked up and saw her large eyes, already glazed with arousal, staring into his. Slowly, never letting her out of his sight, his fingers parted her folds, and he lowered his mouth to let his tongue take a first slow taste of her. Her head flew back and she gasped loud enough for the whole arena to hear. A few cheers went up but were quickly shushed.  
With all his senses tuned towards her, Geralt continued to lave at her folds, and again tried to find the spots where she would start panting.  
Her little nub was already swollen when he first breathed on it. That was enough to let a small scream escape her lips. Stroking it lightly with the tip of his tongue he played her for a while, before he sucked it into his mouth. She bucked into him, and a series of moans filled the air. Her hands had now found his head and urged him on, to continue his ministrations. Her arousal filled his nose, and he felt his mouth water. When he let his tongue explore deeper he found her to be wet already. He resumed licking and nibbling her clitoris, while he pushed a finger along her folds before he entered her carefully. She was tight and hot, and he moaned when he felt his cock twitch in anticipation. Arching her back she began panting, clearly getting closer to her release. Geralt added a second finger and began slowly pumping in and out of her. All the while he continued sucking her clit and biting down lightly on it. His second hand pressed down on her pubic bone to prevent her from breaking his nose when she bucked. For the first time since the beginning, she tried to speak “I,… I cannot,… please, stop, don’t,…” her speech became incomprehensible. Geralt just grinned, and started sucking her clit in time with his fingers pushing into her. With a surprisingly loud shout she came and he could feel her contract around his fingers. This time the whole arena went up in a cheer. 

Slowly he went back up to her. Licking her juices from his fingers, he smiled down at her sweat covered face. She stared up at him, the aftermath of her release clearly visible in her eyes. Geralt leant down and kissed her gently. But she wouldn't have that - grabbing his face in her hands she pulled him closer, and her tongue pushed into his mouth, tasting herself for the first time. She swallowed his moan, and pressing her body against his she made it clear that she was ready for the next step. Without breaking the kiss, Geralt managed to get rid of his boots and trousers. Before he continued, he sat up and let her take a good look at him. He knew that he was above average but she didn't know that. To her every fully engorged cock would look big. When she looked between his legs he could feel her fear come back again. So he took her hand and guided it to his cock. He wrapped her small fingers around him, and let her feel the soft, hot skin. It took all his concentration not to spill himself just at the sight of her hand on him. When she started to move her hand along his length, he sucked in a painful breath, and his hand clasped around hers.  
“Please don’t.” he groaned with clenched teeth. She looked positively horrified, and pulled her hand back “I’m…, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.” she whispered. He managed a short laugh “By the gods, trust me - you are definitely not hurting me. Just the opposite.” He concentrated hard, and tried to think of cold water, drowner brains and water hags to distract him enough, and get some measure of control back.  
After a few seconds he was confident that he would not embarrass himself before her, and with a smile went down on his hands and knees and pushed her body back onto the platform. Again he let his tongue explore her. From her thighs up, in between her legs, where he found new wetness and then up her belly, along her flanks and her breasts and their hard, dark nipples. This time he experimented with biting down harder and was rewarded with a throaty cry. One hand between her legs he started fingering her again. Soon enough she bucked up against his hand.  
He positioned himself on top of her, his lips mouthing over her jaw and finally kissing her. Her arms pulled him in at his shoulders, and he positioned the head of his cock at her wet entrance.  
He sucked her tongue into his mouth when he pushed himself into her. She gasped and he stopped as soon as he had breached her. The next step was the painful one. He started to move lightly in and out of her, not really going any deeper. When she started to relax, he thrust into her with one hard shove. She screamed, but the sound was drowned out by the roar that erupted in the arena. He continued to move in her, knowing that not moving would hurt her even more. His lips kept kissing hers, and he had a hand between them, rubbing her clit. After a few thrusts her pained sobs changed and became something else. Her body arched under him and her hips met his with every thrust.  
When her hands gripped his shoulders, and her fingernails dug into the claw wound of the wyvern, he threw his head back, and an animalistic sound tore from his throat - half pain and half lust.  
With ever harder and faster thrusts his cock spread her tight, hot folds and he knew that she was still with him, urging him on. With a feral fire in his yellow eyes he lowered his mouth to her shoulder, and his tongue laved over the soft skin. Then he bit down.  
He felt her come and heard her scream, her nails leaving deep groves in the muscles of his back. Contracting around his cock, her hot depths started milking him and he finally let himself fall from the cliff. His release hit him so hard his vision went white, and his hips spasmed erratically.  
With a hoarse cry he pushed one last time into her, and collapsed on the platform.  
He didn’t hear the roar at first, thinking it was the blood rushing in his ears but then he realized that the arena had erupted in applause. The girl - Coraline, he remembered - lay under him, dazed and breathing hard. He slid his cock from her wet folds, feeling his seed seeping out after it and lay down on his side, pulling her close and holding her tight. She trembled with the aftershocks, and every now and then a quiet moan would escape her lips. His hand stroked along her sides and down her thighs. He could feel the goosebumps on her skin.  
From the corner of his eye he saw movement, and identified it as a group of people coming towards them. He groaned and got up. He stood in front of the platform, arms crossed and eyes glinting. Unsure what to do next, the men stopped. Geralt saw that they carried shackles and blankets. He raised his eyebrows, and grabbed one of the blankets before the men could react. Wrapping it around the girl first, he picked her up in his arms. Then he started for the exit, not waiting for the others. They followed quickly, however. 

The crowd was still cheering when the door closed behind him and the noise was reduced to a distant roar.  
Geralt carried the girl to one of the cots and carefully laid her down. He took her hand in his, and squeezed lightly. Then he felt a cold hand on his shoulder, the thumb digging painfully into his wound. He gritted his teeth, and with a move too fast to see, got up and turned around gripping the hand of the man in an iron grip, twisting it hard.  
Roche yelped and tried to pull his hand away but Geralt wouldn’t let go. He growled and would have attacked had not one of the guards thrust the butt of his spear in his stomach. The pain had him gasp, and he stumbled back.  
As soon as he felt the grip on his hand loosen, Roche jumped back out of reach. “Damn you. I told you not to try anything stupid.” he grunted, cradling his hand. Geralt was pretty sure that he had broken some bones, it was oddly comforting.  
He just stood there, hand pressed to his middle where the shaft had hit him and glared at Roche.  
“I just came to congratulate you on an absolutely riveting show. The crowd loved it. There were more than a few women who came from just watching you. Monster killer and considerate lover - you just hit all the right spots tonight. Just as I thought.” Roche looked him up and down “I say, you are quite the sight right now, all that sweat and blood.” He licked his lips, as his eyes traveled down Geralt’s body. The Witcher realized that he was still half hard, and not all blood that covered him was his or the wyverns. He looked back at the girl. She clung to her blanket and stared at him. He managed to smile at her and a warm feeling filled his gut when she smiled back. At least for her it hadn’t been too bad tonight.  
Turning back to Roche he removed all emotion from his voice “So, I did what you asked. Can I go back to my cell now? With a stop at the baths before, preferably?”  
Roche looked at him with squinted eyes “That is all? No ‘Free the girl’ or ‘Die, Roche, die?’”  
With a snort Geralt replied “If you could read my thoughts, you wouldn’t have asked the second question.”  
A small smile played at Roche’s lips at that reply “Take him to the baths - and then to his cell. And I believe some meat and wine are in order.” He then locked his gaze into Geralt’s eyes.  
“And take her to my quarters.”

**Author's Note:**

> There we are. Hopefully not too much OOC.  
> Also, I decided to go with the games when it comes to the use of swords. Silver works on all monsters, not just vampires, wraiths and the like. In the books Geralt would have used the steel sword against a draconid, because the silver one is too delicate.
> 
> Looking forward to comments, especially when you found something that I could do differently. Just let me know - I'd really like to improve my style and storytelling.
> 
> Anyways - thanks for joining me in the cold and dark dungeons. See you next time.


End file.
